


Off The Ice

by poynter



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Sports, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 20:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6534568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poynter/pseuds/poynter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is an overly aggressive hockey player. Rhys is the goalie at the receiving end of Jack's antics... and he's sick of it. Rhack AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off The Ice

Rhys took off a glove and swiped his hand under his nose. A light streak of blood glistened on his palm. _Okay, this is definitely_ his _fault,_ he thought bitterly as he pushed his net off the ice. _Again. For the billionth time._

The asshole in question was skating large loops around the other side of the rink as Rhys glared. He shot puck after puck at the wall, letting the metallic _clank_  reverberate throughout the room. He had been tasked with taking the pucks off the ice, but considering Rhys had yet to see this guy play by the rules, Rhys assumed he had his own agenda to fulfill.

The remainder of the players had filed into the locker rooms, eager to get out of their sweaty gear. _Now or never_ , thought Rhys. “Hey!” he yelled, his voice breaking in the middle of the exclamation. The other player continued shooting at the wall. “Hey, you!” _Clank. Clank._ It took a full thirty seconds for Rhys to realize he was being ignored.

Grumbling as he kicked off, Rhys skated in a fast, straight line over to the other side of the rink. After one last _clank_ , the guy gave a wave without glancing in Rhys’s direction. “Heard you the first fifty times, cupcake. Trying to congratulate me on the big W? What was the score, something like sixty thousand to squat?”

“Six to three actually, but that was only because–”

“Your best guy couldn’t play or something, yeah yeah, whatever. Doesn’t matter. We still won.” He turned to look at Rhys, eyes glimmering with satisfaction, just like they did whenever his team slaughtered the opposition. 

“But it...” Rhys stopped and sighed, unwilling to defend his team’s admittedly poor performance. “Whatever, I don’t even care about the loss, okay? I care about _this_.” He pointed at his nose.

The guy gazed blankly at Rhys’s gesture. “What, like, your face? I can almost guarantee you I care more about mine.”

“Oh my God,” Rhys groaned, his blood boiling with contempt for the other guy’s smarmy attitude. “Every week I come here and play against you. Every week you run into me a thousand times, and every week I leave with blood oozing from some part of my body!” he cried with his palm outstretched to display the streak of blood. “You might think this is a free-for-all since we don’t have a ref, but it’s not.”

The other guy shrugged. “Hey, hockey’s a rough sport. I have my reasons for running into you.”

“What possible reason could you have for body-checking the goalie into the net every time you score?” Rhys exclaimed, frustration at a fever pitch.

The guy shook his head as he snickered. “Goalie, goalie, goalie...”  
  
“My name is Rhys.”  
  
“Jack. Pleasure to meet you. Think about it, goalie.” Rhys winced. “For what reason– other than the delight of seeing that panicked expression spread across your face– would I want you to get nervous when I get close to the goal?” Jack folded his hands behind his back and began to skate circles around Rhys as he talked. Rhys stood, unmoving and unamused, in the center.

“You know, after talking to you for five seconds, I kind of believe that you’re doing it just to see my ‘panicked expression.’”

“That’s a big factor, sure, but nah. I’m more complex than that,” Jack explained. “I’ve played against you for almost three months now. Every time, I score a few more points than the last time.” Rhys’s eyes began to follow Jack’s trail of circles. He stopped himself, paranoid of becoming hypnotized by the movements. “And it’s all thanks to you being scared of me.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

Jack screeched to a halt and folded his arms over his chest. “Okay, let’s pretend that’s true. You’re at least scared of getting pummeled.” 

“No, it’s not– I’m not...” Rhys felt his cheeks reddening. Jack’s expression– previously hard-edged and full of zest– softened in response. “I mean, wouldn’t you be?”

“Nah. I’ve had my share of pummelings before I’ve even set foot on the ice. For instance, today I told our defenseman that he should consider shaving his chest and using a stronger deodorant. He almost shoved his fist down my throat.”

“The big, burly guy with the red socks?” Rhys asked.

“Looks like he lives in a cave surrounded by bears? Yeah.”

“He definitely needs a stronger deodorant,” said Rhys with a shudder. “Not to defend your opinion or anything,” he added quickly.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to give off the impression that you like me. That would be a big mistake, goalie.”

“ _Rhys_.” He already regretted showing a shred of kindness to this guy.

“Still gonna call you goalie.” He skated over to the pucks he had yet to put away and shot one toward the other end of the rink. “Wanna help me get these off the ice?”

“Not particularly, no. But I doubt you’re gonna do it on your own, so...” Rhys sighed and skated toward the puck. 

He’d nearly reached it when he heard the sound of skates coming toward him at warp speed. Rhys whipped around, a familiar sensation of fear seizing his chest, and barely had time to blurt out a nervous yelp before Jack crashed into him and took them both down to the ice. 

“Uurghh,” Rhys gurgled from underneath Jack’s body. “Why... the _hell_...”

Jack could scarcely stop laughing to get the words out. “Practice!”

“For what?!” shouted Rhys as he struggled to prop himself up on his elbows.

“For the next game when I inevitably freak the living shit out of you! C’mon, let’s try again! Oh, one suggestion: This time, try looking less like a scaredy cat with a heart problem.”

Jack hopped up and skated to the other side of the rink. Rhys watched with pure vindictive energy pulsing in his veins. He wasn’t feeling angry as much as he simply wanted Jack to get a freshly-sharpened ice skate to the ass.

“Coming, goalie?” Jack called over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rhys grumbled in response, slowly rising to his skates. As he dusted ice flakes off of himself, an idea began to form in his head. The notion gained momentum with every stride he took toward the opposite end of the rink. When Jack turned his back to play with a puck, adrenaline propelled Rhys forward at top speed before he could take a moment to think it through. 

Jack caught a glimpse of the determination on Rhys’s face before the goalie’s skate got caught in a divot on the rink. As Rhys fell to the ground, he flung his hands out and grabbed onto Jack.

They took the tumble together, expletives flying out of Jack’s mouth as he crashed tailbone-first on the ice and Rhys’s head landed in his lap. Once they were done moaning in shock and pain, Jack slowly laid down on the rink and stared at the ceiling. “You’re an idiot,” he whined.

“It was supposed to be payback,” explained Rhys.

“I think my ass is bleeding.”

“Then I succeeded.” 

“Wanna get your face out of my crotch?”

Rhys had been unaware of his proximity to Jack’s nether regions until that moment. He snapped his head up and grinned sheepishly. “My bad.”

“Yeah, you are bad,” groaned Jack as he rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “Truce?”

“Huh?”

“I’ll stop taking you to hurts-ville every week, okay? I’ll switch to every other week or something. Just do me a favor and never try– and fail terribly– to get payback ever again.”

Rhys nodded. “Deal.”

“Also, because of that little blunder, you owe me a beer.”

“After all the times you’ve injured me? No way, you owe _me_ a beer,” huffed Rhys as he stood up.

“We’ll buy each other a beer,” Jack compromised. “There’s a bar next to the rink that should be playing today’s big game now. We could probably make it in time for the second period–” Rhys extended his hand to help Jack to his feet. “–oh, thanks. Anyway, we could make it if you shower off quick enough, goalie.”

Rhys released Jack’s hand from his grip, letting Jack fall back to the ice with an unceremonious _thud_. “For the last time, it’s Rhys,” he said sternly. “Not goalie, _Rhys_. Got it, sore-ass?”  
  
Jack stared up at him, dumbfounded by the frigidness in his tone. After a second, the astonishment morphed into a smirk. “You got it, Rhysie.”

Rhys exhaled audibly and offered his hand again. “Close enough.”

Later, as they sat at the bar sipping beer and discussing topics that surpassed the realm of hockey, Jack found it difficult to keep his inner exultation from showing through in his expression. 

_It took nearly three months, but it all paid off,_ he thought as he watched Rhys order another round. _But I gotta admit, even by my standards..._

“On me,” Rhys declared, handing Jack a beer. “No need to pay me back.” 

_...That was a weird-ass way of asking someone on a date._

**Author's Note:**

> This idea popped into my head today and I needed to get it typed out. Something needlessly smutty might come out of this someday, who knows... Feel free to take this idea and make it your own, btw!
> 
> If you like this, I also have a Tales From the Borderlands High School/Homecoming AU going on (that I swear I'm going to update in the next few days, fooorreals)!


End file.
